WORMBOY
by Mistress Grimm
Summary: One reason why Kuwabara had trouble falling asleep at night... (RATED "M" for violence and language)


**Disclaimer:** I do NOT own Yu Yu Hakusho, nor do I own its characters.

**WARNING:** Prepare for a work of suck. It's rated "M" for the harsh language, violence, and unadulterated stupidity.

I am SO sorry for any of you having to read this one-shot, it is extremely bad. I am basing my material on the manga, more so than on the anime.

THIS IS A "ONE SHOT" AND THEREFORE WILL NOT HAVE ANY CHAPTERS ADDED.

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**WORMBOY**

_He had known him since before he could remember._

_Daichi was his name, or so he had been told by him. He did not doubt his word, though, knowing that he was of sincere character, that he was staid to integrity, and it was for these reasons he was naturally good._

_In fact, they were a lot alike in so many ways. For one, Daichi's coat matched his ginger mane, while the colors of their eyes were identical. Just as well, they lived in the same house together. They shared secrets with one another, too, and played games together. They ate together, watched the telly together, slept together, and even went to school together. Even more, they enjoyed the same things and shared similar interests._

_But Daichi was more than a faithful companion._

_Daichi was his life-support. Daichi gave him strength. Daichi brought him serenity and solace. Daichi kept him warm. And Daichi was giving and never asked for anything in return, ever._

_Daichi would never take from him, though. Daichi would never use him, either. Daichi would never hurt him or bring him any harm, too. Just the same, Daichi would never laugh at him for sport or make him cry. Daichi would never point out his flaws and weaknesses. Daichi would never purposely ignore him. Daichi would never push him away. Daichi would never abandon him. Daichi would never tell him lies or break his promises. Daichi would never touch him in a way like that creepy man in his closet did. And Daichi would never tell him that he was a mistake or that he ought to be dead._

_But most of all, Daichi smelled like mama, or at least he imagined the smell of her._

_He loved him for he was dear to him, true to him, and considered his beloved Daichi a brother and his only friend._

_So, naturally, he clung to his beloved Daichi, his feline pal._

The six year old crept down the hall from his bedroom, eyeing the shadows suspiciously. He pressed the toy to his breast, despite the doll being over half his size.

"Daddy? Shizu?"

The child nearly jumped out of his skivvies when he heard a sudden crash, and of which was immediately followed by a chilling clatter. The sounds emanated from within his room.

"Did you hear that, Daichi?" He whispered. "…What was that?"

Startled, he gasped when he then heard shifting and crunching, something chinking. As his heart thrashed against his ribcage, he ran the opposite direction. And he nearly tripped over himself before reaching nearest room, too.

The pictures mounted on the walls shivered.

He shrieked; "Sister!"

"Go away, brat." A riled voice arose from under the bed covers.

The boy pouted at the girl, who had just became a teenager— Correction, a broody thirteen year old girl who held a little brother to be an absolute, writhing under her skin, nuisance.

"But something broke into my room!" He wailed as he shook the bed.

The teen stirred under the blanket, groaning.

He attempted yet again; "Something's in my room!"

"_Something's in my room!"_ She derided. "And I don't give a fuck! …So, go get lost, you little dipshit!"

Insistent, he jumped onto the bed's edge and pushed against her leg. "Get up! Get up!" He began bouncing on the pink monster beneath him, shaking her. "Please, Shizu! PLEASE!"

"PISS OFF!" She kicked him off the bed.

Her little brother hit the floor with a thud.

A sound croaked in his throat a moment later, his voice then gurgled in his throat before a moan sputtered from out his lips. Tears prickled his eyes as his face turned a shade of red, and wheezed as his lips strained into a grimace.

She knew what was coming and, for this, she heaved a sigh. She forced the covers off of herself, sat up and glared down at her quivering thorn.

"Listen, I don't care if it bites all your little nubs off and force feeds them down your cake hole!" She snarled with a sneer, gritting her teeth at him. "In fact, it should come and get you. It would do us all a BIG favor, but that's just too much to ask for, isn't it? Might as well suck it up, because it's not going to happen, you fucking little cockroach."

She was merciless when expressing her annoyance towards him, like most siblings often are when dealing with younger members of their family. Still, she knew better than to treat her little brother so terribly, but that was not going to deter her from hurting him anyway. And, deplorably, she will not come to appreciate him one single bit until later, when he is older.

What a crying shame.

Unduly, the teen added; "It's probably after you because you play with yourself at night. Get up!"

She observed as he wallowed on the floor before managing to roll onto his knees. He hiccupped mewls as he peered out through squints. His brow was wrinkled and his cheeks appeared scalded.

Callously, his sister rolled her eyes at him as he rose slowly off his hands and knees.

Shakily, he turned and stared back at her, snot oozing down from his left nostril.

Her expression was utterly deadpanned. "…Idiot, go bother dad." She muttered with as much contempt she could muster. "Or go drown yourself elsewhere in your pity…and take your precious piece of shit toy with you."

As the child tried to swallow back his tears, sniffling as he reached down and plucked from the floor his stuffed animal.

He rubbed his sore eyes dry with his knuckles, each sclera bloodshot. His breath was shallow. Crying at his sister was not going to get him anywhere with her, he soon realized. And he should have known that, should have known better, even at such a young age.

Not that he truly wanted to cry, mind you. Faithfully, his sister would beat every inch of him IF he did continue to cry.

The girl detested babysitting him.

"I haven't smiled since you were born." She huffed as she laid back down, pulling the sheet over her head as she flopped backward onto the pillow.

He almost gave in, but then suddenly a thought came to him. With a glimmer of hope in the shade of his eyes, he pleaded yet again while he held his doll before him. He spoke up for his friend; "But Daichi said that—"

She cut him off; "Daichi said NOTHING, you little freak! Your friend is NOT real!"

The child's eyes grew dull, ghostly, her words having sliced through him.

"That THING is NOT alive, you retard!" The teen vilified. "Oh, and word of advice: Shut up or the _things_ will hear you." She then killed the exchange, bitterly putting an end to the matter between them, when she exclaimed; "…You insufferable pain in my ass, you ruined my life!"

The child was not going to receive any solace from her. Crest fallen, his shoulders shook as he hiccupped softly, and murmured to himself when he turned away from her.

He saved his breath and withdrew from her room, clutching Daichi to him as he went down the hall to find his father.

Alas, the boy dreaded seeing him more, though, knowing well enough already that the man was far worse than his sister. And at least his sister would sometimes reconsider, though not usually, and yet it still required him to beg long and hard enough to get her to do so.

The child inspected all the usual places his father would be: the master bedroom, the family den, the kitchen, but most certainly not the garage. At night, he was too terrified to peek outside, for the mean shadow people could be lurking out there…and often were. Eventually, he found the man in the militia room, located in the bowels of the house; otherwise known as "the basement".

At first, he peeked in as he stood behind the door. He beheld an eerie glow shining up from the bottom beyond the stairs. There was a familiar voice that resonated from the light, with random intervals of static. He could not comprehend what his father was going on about, nonetheless, since the conversation was virtually spoken entirely in another lingo.

The boy crept down the staircase, taking every step with caution.

As he drew closer, he noticed the shiny toys in his father's possession. They were not the '_cool'_ boom sticks he had seen his father with in photographs, but they were still incredibly dangerous. His father had told him so, having warned him by insisting that these playthings were for _'real men' _only.

His old man passed him a glance, wearing those trademark pitch black sunglasses of his. Truly, the man was rarely seen without sporting his shades. Most did not suspect his father to be blind in one eye, which had been injured years ago by a piece of shrapnel while in a guerrilla match.

"I'm busy right now." He brushed off before his son could utter a sing word.

"Mmm…" The child struggled to speak, unnerved by his father's cold shoulder. "B-but…b-b-but, daddy, there's something in my r-room."

"_Something _in your room, you say?" His father taunted, his laughter and obstruction hinted in his voice. "Run along, back to bed with you. These silly dreams will fade away."

The youth nearly squeezed the doll. "B-b-but I saw it, daddy! It peered in through the window! It had mean, scary eyes!"

"Ooh, creepy…" His old man drawled, busily preoccupied with other things. "It won't hurt you. Now, run along…" He gestured for him to go, his back still facing the child. "I have much work to do, I have to feed…and clothe you. I don't have time for your infantile delusions."

The boy hiccuped in mid-sentence as he screeched; "It was…watching me!" He persisted, even though he knew he was not going to reach through to the man, for he rarely ever did.

His father's patience became thin, pausing for a moment to massage his temples. "Why can't you be more like your sister?" He accused, bristled by his son's lack of grit.

"Daddy!" His son cried, feeling the sting of his father's ridicule. Living under shadows, undermined, he was always being compared to others and his sister. This was his father's—no, his family's—in fact, everyone's sick way of getting to him.

His old man was demeaning, chastising him in such a cruel way. He clearly did not know how to discipline, much less regard children in general.

"Shizuru never came crying to me when she was your age." The man mauled. "Look at her. She's brave and tough and…unlike you…"

"Daddy, please!" The boy wheezed, a deluge of despair having washed over him. He quailed. "Th-th-there's-s a…a m-m-monst-t-ter in-n m-m-my r-room!" Hot tears spilled over, the salty fluid crashing down from his cheeks.

The man turned around and faced his son, his voice raised. "Tut, tut, tut, tut! Didn't we have a discussion about this already?" He kneeled on one knee, barely, pepping with such pseudo encouragement. "No crying. Boys don't cry. It's by time you start manning up!"

The boy could see right through him, though, see how bogus he truly was. Frankly, he did not suppose that his father cared, not even if the man knew his son was well aware of it all being a charade.

Just like most self-centered adults, the man wanted to remedy himself of the problem, though only when the problem would make himself more noticeable than usual. He loved his son, maybe.

His father grunted at his son's sensitivity. "Stop being such a weakling; you're too old for that. You're disgracing yourself and this family. Now, we don't want that, do we?"

"…But…the…m-monster…" The little one's voice cracked. He rubbed his eyes and then pressed his face against his doll's belly, releasing some of the pent up trauma into the toy as if it were a sponge.

"Go get'em, demon slayer!" His father insisted with spirit, and then tenderly slapped the little body on the back. "Besides, maybe it's all just one big misunderstanding. The BIG, bad bogeyman prolly wants to be your friend!" He cackled as he straightened up.

The child cringed in response moments before being shooed toward the stairway. With his head held low, dejected, he journeyed back up. The stairs creaked ominously with his every step, feeling his heart palpitate inside himself yet again.

"I don't want to hear any more of this, you hear!" He heard his father speak from down below. "And I better not catch you hiding!"

"…Yes, daddy." The boy exhaled.

After having slipped through the basement door, he peered down at the doll in his arms. "Come on, Daichi…" He closed the door behind him, and then, with dread, left the kitchen and headed off toward his bedroom. "Maybe if we're lucky, we won't feel as we die."

Once he reached the hall, he began to worm his way when realizing how dark and foreboding his room appeared down at the end. He was reduced to trembling when his ears detected the commotion that flagrantly resounded from the darkness ahead, feeling that familiar tingle in his eyes as heat surged from them.

The temperature dropped, which gave the boy a case of the goose pimples.

He pushed onward, somehow having recovered his determination. "Let's be brave, Daichi. Daddy and Shizu need us to protect them." He urged his imaginary playmate. "We tried to warn them, but it's up to us now to save them."

The boy whimpered, the darkness seeming all the more voracious. There was a rustling coming from inside his room.

The child suddenly gasped and stared at his doll in shock. "…What? You're wrong, Daichi. Of course, they love me. They always have." He pleaded to differ with the doll, though in reality it was perhaps his own conscience speaking to him. "They only hurt me because they love me… It's my fault, not their's. I'm the one who brings shame to the family name. …But Shizu doesn't mean it when she tells me to disappear."

Loud grating noises were heard as he drew nearer. He noticed the red smears and fingerprints on his door, as well as on the walls. The nearby bathroom, however, was in far worse condition, ravaged through and likewise tarnished by the same red. A metallic scent polluted the air in the surrounding area.

Fresh tears spilled over as he held Daichi closer. He closed his eyes as he reached up and turned the handle.

"Goddamn that son-ova-bitch…" A strange, dark form cursed as he stood near moonlight. Yes, he was obviously male, without a doubt.

Upon having laid eyes on the entity the child stood still, gawking.

The being was rather lanky in stature, while his entire silhouette was outlined in the dark by his aura. After having stepped closer into the light, the boy could see how strikingly young the entity was and that the dark clothes he wore was covered in red. …Well, it wasn't strawberry jam, and that he was sure of.

The child did not have words to describe the intruder, far too afraid to mutter even so much as one syllable. He noted how the floor hissed right under the foreboding being, how the wood was singed with each step and, yet, the temperature in the room continued to plummet as this figure raged on.

"That bastard, he REALLY put up a fight… Shit!" The entity cursed as he tore an item from out of his arm, with a pair of tweezers at that, then studied and crushed whatever it was in his bare hand. He suddenly chuckled under his breath, from his hands up past his elbows was bloody and scored. "…Still, I'm going to enjoy ripping his heart out, enjoy every second of it, and make that annoying brat watch when..." The entity then realized he was not alone. "…Oh, hello there."

The boy remained frozen, all the more paralyzed by fear when the stranger focused on him.

"Does a human worm like you know where I can fucking get some motherfucking anesthetics?" The entity inquired, but when the child did not oblige he pushed aside his request. "Never mind… That fucking shit you call a bathroom lacks essential resources." He peeled his shirt off and then tore it into long strips, intending to use the material to bind his injuries. "Nothing quite like having motherfuckers who put up a good struggle, let me fucking tell ya… The bleeding, screaming…pleading…begging…cursing… clawing as you fucking breaking those shits into pieces."

The man inhaled through his teeth, hissing. He reveled in his passing thoughts, obtaining gratification as he relived his reprehensible memories.

"But, really, it's how they look you in the fucking eye when they realize their impending demise…" He continued to muse, his words lined with malice. "That's it, that's the moment you've been fucking waiting for all the fucking along, the fucking surge you get when being in absolute control. It's the look on their shitty disgrace for a phizog, knowing that they'll never fucking forget you and what you've fucking done as they fade into blackness. This is the most crucial point…when bathing in the blood of your adversaries. It's the unbridled fear that you've inflicted, rather than pain alone." He regarded the boy as he finished dressing his wounds. "…By the looks of it, kid, you feel me."

As though it was only response he could give, the boy's bottom lip quivered.

"…So, pipsqueak, what do the meatbags call you?" The invader demanded, who narrowed his eyes as he loomed over the terrified boy.

The child struggled to speak, though he knew not why he was even bothering to articulate at all. "Ka-Kazuma…" He managed out.

"Well, nothing to fear, Kazuma…" The queer man assured him cynically. "I'm just your friendly neighborhood prowler."

"…P-prowler?" Kazuma repeated, unsure as to what that word meant.

"Think of it as being unauthorized pest control." He received a perturbing reply. "The name's Kazuya… Was that you I heard, weepy?"

"…Uhh…" The child hesitated to answer, abashed with himself.

Kazuya stared at him, by now apathetic and callous toward the matter. In any case, it was not like he genuinely cared. Humans were so pathetic, and his dissent for the species shown in his violet orbs. He studied '_the little waste bag'_ before he noticed something. "…Who the fuck is that?" He pointed to the stuffed animal in the child's arms.

"Daichi…" came a squeak.

Kazuya raised a brow. "…Daichi?"

Kazuma gave a slight nod. "He's my friend."

"…Your friend, huh?" Kazuya asked incredulously, and then raked his bloody fingers through his dark mane. "How fucking original." He commented to himself. He reached down and snatched the toy from out of the little boy's grasp.

Kazuma choked when the doll was taken from him. He reached up though he lacked the backbone to speak up. His eyes pleaded, almost silently begging the '_demon'_ to not "hurt" him.

"Let's see…" Kazuya studied the doll, observing the rather unhinged expression on its so called face. "…Hi there, so you're Daichi? Hn. Well, aren't you one disturbed little motherfucker. Cute little motherfucker, though, aren't you? Cheshire Puss, why do you fucking smile so? …Shit, you fucking happy to see me? That ain't the first motherfucking time I got that from fucking pussy such as you."

As tensions dwindled some, Kazuma felt more at ease.

The guy did seem pretty congenial, at least when seen from this child's point of view. The poor kid, most people whom he has met were not even half this pleasant toward him.

So what was to be expected from a child who grew around violent people? A child who was being raised by violent people? A child who was abused and neglected? …A child who was broken on the inside?

Kazuma was a bad judge of character.

Yet, one could surely admit to him being none too bright, and perhaps somehow naive.

And as far as he could tell, Daichi seemed to like Kazuya.

Children would not know any better, people, especially Kazuma.

Daichi continued to give that cheesy stare, seeming real for but a moment as a twinkle shined in his eye.

"What's so funny?" Kazuya brought the doll closer to his ear. "Hn. You don't say. …Your owner will grow up into a wet, limp dick misfit…? …A suicidal imbecile? …And a prima donna, drama queen? ...Demons feel him up at night? …That he pisses and shits on himself whenever those moments are presented? …Fucking inevitable that one day he'll snap? …The kid's a killer in the making? …He's going to hell? …What?"

The boy stared up at him, stunned by having heard such things that were supposedly from Daichi.

How could Daichi say such things? He was supposed to be his friend! …Wasn't he his friend? No, he had to be. Daichi would never, NEVER say or do such a terrible thing to him! …He has never done so before!

Akin to a supernova, the Kazuma's orpiment orbs dilated afore having withered into tiny specks.

Kazuya tightened his grip, contemptibly compressing the toy as he did so. An abominable grimace carved itself upon his visage, formed between his cankered lips. His whole demeanor seemed to change, like in a flick of a switch. With ferocity blazing in his eyes, he snarled; "WHY, YOU GODDAMN SACK OF EVIL FLUFF."

Kazuma's jaw suddenly fell, his eyes wide and unreeling, and his lungs having collapsed when he then witnessed an unspeakable spectacle unfold before him.

Having dug into the mass with his already tainted fingers, Kazuya had plowed through the outer fabric and into the fibrous plush inside.

All color drained from the boy's complexion as he was reduced to convulsing, parts of him twitching. His eyes screamed as he observed the _'demon's' _vile deeds. Overcome by ostensible madness, the fiend was slitting the toy open, tearing alongside its belly with his blood encrusted nails.

"You vile, infested fuck!" Kazuya hissed as he ripped into the gut of the toy. In psychotic passion, he then commenced with the shameless act of further debasement, and by extracting the sinewy content from within when doing so. "You fucking talk through a paper asshole, cock sucker! You have NO idea…NO FUCKING IDEA of what it's like to deal with vermin such as yourself!" His eyes wagged, those violet orbs of his engaged in a frenzied dance. "YOU DON'T FUCKING KNOW WHAT GOODNESS IS!"

All the while, a scream had lodged itself within the boy's throat, and of which eventually crawled its way free as feeble murmurs. He just stood there, unable to move.

"The horror I've seen!" Kazuya pulled out several of the seams, which caused the doll to lose an arm. "The LIES I've been told! THE LIES! THE HELL I'VE ENDURED… WHAT IT'S LIKE TO BE FUCKED UP… TO GET FUCKED OVER…" He loosened the head when he wrangled the toy by the neck. "And all at the hands of sick SHIT…" He maliciously thumbed the plastic circles for eyes. "…like…" To which he pinched the fabric surrounding the disks. "…you…!" And then lastly, he popped each of them off.

As his aggression began to quell, Kazuya's ears finally picked up on the simmering, wretched sobs that resounded from the boy nearby. He shifted his gaze, to and fro from the whimpering child, afore forking over the now butchered toy to its rightful owner.

Kazuma clung to what was left of his beloved doll, nuzzling against the remains as he mourned over his loss.

"Aww, poor baby…" Kazuya sneered as he scowled loathsomely. "I did you a fucking favor, kid. That crappy doll was possessed. Consider yourself fucking luck that I happened to have slipped in, and just in the fucking nick of time." He huffed. "Now, how'bout you return the damn favor by walking me out?"

The adolescent ushered the downhearted child with him to the bedroom window, the glass broken and smeared in red. The window had been shattered, as the boy had suspected sometime awhile before, particularly when it happened. Sharp fragments littered the area, mainly the floor. In fact, some of the shards had carved their way somehow into the wood, while others marked the surface.

Having a little sense after all, Kazuma stayed away from the hazard.

"Well, it's been fucking nice talking to ya, wormboy." Kazuya said after having turned to him.

Red faced, Kazuma struggled to swallow back the pain and, just the same, fought hard with fear. He was wrecked with tears, his eyes swollen, and each breath wheezed out as he choked those howls of his.

"Oh, and if anyone asks about me, tell no one I was here…" Kazuya leaned down at eyelevel and looked him fatally in the eye. "...Because if you do, I'll come back and kill your whole entire fucking family."

Those words sent chills down his little spine. Terrified, Kazuma squealed.

"I'LL BE SEEING YOU AROUND, KID!"

Kazuya slipped out while in a fit of vicious laughter. Then, after having leaped down from the second story window, he swiftly vanished from the boy's sight, having blended into the darkness.

Shakily, Kazuma backed away from the window as he bawled. He tripped over his feet a few passing beats later, which landed him upon his back end. Not bothering to stand up, he scooted the rest of the way like that, all that way to the wall. And there he curled up, silently praying that the intruder would never return.

He cradled his departed Daichi, having placed his attention solely on _'him'_. His friend was no longer recognizable, the luster was gone, and the image of what _'he'_ used to be had rotted away before the child's very own eyes. Moreover, the toy's scent was tainted, no longer holding what provided the child with such comfort.

"…You can't see me, can you? YOU CAN'T SEE ME!"

A loud, resounding cry broke through. His wails filled the room, his voice shrill.

The head of the toy fell off onto the floor.

"DAICHI!"

"WHAT'S WITH ALL THAT FUCKING NOISE?" He heard the sudden roar of his sister's voice. "THERE ARE PEOPLE TRYING TO SLEEP! AND WHAT DID YOU DO TO THE BATHROOM, YOU LITTLE SHIT?"

**THE END**

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This actually goes along with my current story "In The Mulberry Field". So, if you were wondering why I haven't updated that story yet, this is why. Took me long enough, honestly, though it didn't me none being sick this entire week… I'm still recovering, so forgive me for my sucky writing.  
YES, I WROTE THIS WHILE BEING SICK WITH THE FLU! YAY ME!


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